Anything You Can Do
by District Thirteen
Summary: So what if he can bake? How hard could it be to add flowery designs to some stupid muffin? Well, I need to find a talent, and I'm SURE I can handle Peeta's thing...
1. Part One

**this one's not morbid! aren't you proud of me? just some kinda fluffy peeta x katniss stuff, i think it's gonna be at least a two-shot but if people like it i might continue... well, tell me what you think!**

**NOTE: this takes place between hg and cf. apparently i confused some people by not making that clear. sorry!  
**

It was early morning when Effie's voice caught me sneaking through the window and dragged me to the door, shrill tones as effective as any electric fence could be. She allows herself a single toss of that curly pink wig for the drama, then gets down to business. Well, the Effie equivalent of it anyway.

"Good morning, Katniss!" she trills happily. "It's been a week since your victory, and now that you've finished catching up with friends and family, it's time to choose your talent." She pauses, beaming at me. "Do you have any idea of what you'd like to be yet, dear?"

Somewhere in a long history of watching the horror called the Hunger Games, I did remember that the victors had to choose a talent, but I hadn't given much thought to it myself. Since that was mostly what the winner did to occupy their time and money now that life was so easy, and since I'd been _planning_ to use that time for something illegal, I figure I'll have to fess up. "I haven't given it much thought yet," I say, doing my best to look ashamed.

Well, I'm no Peeta when it comes to convincing the crowd, but Effie's never been the brightest wig in the Capitol. "Oh, don't worry, Katniss! Peeta isn't sure what he'll be doing either. Why don't you two... brainstorm for a while? Spend the day together and see what you can come up with!"

I'm about to open my mouth and say that we haven't spoken to each other in the seven days that we've been home and didn't plan to, but I shut it again. After all, I want to talk to Peeta. It's _him_ that's been avoiding _me_. But maybe this is what we need. Maybe this is the perfect thing to help me win back the boy with the bread. "That's a great idea!" I tell her, which has the desired effect. Effie bustles out, tittering happily and leaving me to gather my thoughts while she goes to tell him the new plan.

* * *

We've been sitting on the rooftop for a while now, just taking shy glances back and forth. It's driving me crazy. I can't believe this girl. She thought she could just fake this for the crowd, never wondering how I would feel. Me, Peeta, the fool who thought it was all real. Just one among the many boys who's fallen for the girl on fire.

"Hi," she says finally, awkwardly, jarring me out of my self-pity and into a sort of empathy. She must feel the tension in the air, too. She probably feels guilty about all of this, and wants to start again. Wants to be my friend. Why can't I just let go?

"Hi," I reply, my voice a little colder than I'd meant it to be. I try again. "Hi, Katniss."

Katniss. The most beautiful girl in the world. Her dark hair is almost glowing in the soft light of the morning, tied back in a simple yet practical braid that reflects our lifestyle in District Twelve. Simple and practical. Her eyes, those silver eyes, still wide with an innocence that belies the cunning, intelligent, _deadly_ girl behind them. Who could fail to love that face? Who wouldn't want to protect her from everything, even knowing her enviable independence, her unparalleled willpower?

"Hi," she says again, smiling slightly now, and I realize how stupid my second greeting must have sounded. My cheeks burn and I look away as I respond.

"So... any idea of what you want to do?"

"Well, I guess hunting is out, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Getting arrested... not good."

She's laughing in an oddly girlish way I've never heard before from her. Her expression seems amused and unusually soft for her. She's giggling. Giggling at _me_.

Again, I acknowledge how dumb that probably sounded to Katniss. Why am I such an idiot around her? Why can't I be like the boy who hunts with her in the woods, the one she really loves?

And then, just like that, it's out of my mouth. "Teach me how to hunt," I say, and it sounds like an order.

"What happened to 'getting arrested...not good'?" She questions, still smirking a little. But I can see an excited gleam in her eyes, and I know that this could be my big chance.

"Well, that's your real talent. Maybe if I try it too, I'll be able to get inside your head and see what else you could get from it." I'm surprised that the answer is almost logical. Maybe hope has cleared my head a little.

"This might actually work," she muses, and then grins. "Let's try it."

"Perfect," I say, trying to get a grip on the dizzy happiness that's starting to take over. "Let's go right now."

"Wait. I'll only teach you on one condition."

"What's that?" My heart is pounding and I'm sure she can hear it. Stupid cardiovascular system.

"You have to teach me to make your fancy cakes," she smiles. I know she's recalling all those times she stood outside our bakery window staring at them with her little sister.

"Deal," I reply, smiling with relief.

"You teach first," she says, smirking back. I agree instantly and we head down the stairs and to the biggest room in my victor's house, the kitchen. Katniss keeps glancing at me, a little uncertain, a little amused by my determined expression, but I know she can do it, she _will_ do it.

When I'm through with her, she will be Katniss, the girl with the bread.

**that's all for now! i promise i'll put up the second half soon. r&r please!**


	2. Part Two

I feel a little out of place, with this giant kitchen of his threatening to swallow me whole. But Peeta's smile is familiar and I cling to it like a lifeline, and he seems so at home in this room that I can't help but feel that way too. However I might feel about the location, it's what's in the place that's important. Namely, the baking supplies. And him.

"Okay, Katniss, why don't we try a cake?" He looks like he's talking to a five year-old, but I guess I don't have any right to be annoyed. After all, hunting certainly isn't _his_ area of expertise.

"Sure," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, even though I'm imagining the moment when I come home to Prim with the most beautiful cake in the world, for her and her alone.

"Alright. We need ingredients. Could you grab the flour?" I'm a little dubious at first, having seen him haul huge bags of the stuff and knowing that strength isn't exactly my forte, but I spot it in the corner and there's only a small amount here anyway. I grab it and return to Peeta, still wondering what the big deal is about baking.

"Open it now," he instructs me, like I didn't know to do that, "And we can pour out three cups of it. Into these." He's gesturing to the measuring cups on the table and saying something about making sure to put in the right amount, but I'm getting a little bored of being treated like a two year-old. I think a Hunger Games victor can handle some flour.

The instant I open it, it seems... different. It's so white and soft looking, nothing like the tall golden stems I'd seen lilting in the breeze of the Meadow, and not even close to the look of the tesserae grain. "Is this from the Capitol?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes a little softer than before. "They wanted to give me the best there is. Knowing I was a baker and everything."

I try to act like this doesn't upset me too much, but the fact that the Capitol is still forcing itself into our lives, will still be in our lives until they're over, will still be _broadcasting_ our lives on television even after they're over, makes me a little angry. I put the stupid Capitol flour on the table with a little more force than intended. White flurries spiral a little ways out of the bag.

I sneeze.

And then there's a shower of the stuff all around me, as good as any blizzard. But I can still see Peeta staring at me, stunned, the flour gathering on his chef's hat, his whole body coated in white like some kind of bizarre culinary ghost. And I sneeze and sneeze and sneeze until there's absolutely no air left to be expelled so ruthlessly by my traitor nose.

The dust settles, we glance each other's way, and promptly crack up.

I'm sure I must look as ridiculous as he does, but it's hard to imagine at this point. He's literally caked in the stuff- it's piled high in his shoes and on his hat, slathered across every inch of skin and clothing, and I have no idea how so much flour came out of such a small bag.

But I guess it's not really the flour we're laughing at. We're just happy to be together, because, no matter who's been avoiding who, the boy with the bread and the girl on fire have been through too much not to be friends. I'm not sure if Peeta knows that, but we keep laughing for a while anyway. This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it?

Finally Peeta has enough air in his lungs again to stand, dust himself off, and try to muster some dignity. It doesn't work.

There's a long pause while the flour he stirred up settles, and then, carefully, gently:

"Why don't we try a cupcake instead?"

* * *

The bow in my hand seems heavy and unfamiliar. I had tried my hand at archery during the training session before the Games, but I'd quickly discovered that I couldn't hit a single bulls-eye, let alone a moving target, and changed tactics as soon as possible. Katniss is the hunter among us anyway. She catches the food, I cook it. That's the closest connection I've ever had with her.

But that reminds me why I'm here. To win over the girl on fire. And, sharpshooter or not, that's exactly what I'm going to do. "You might want to be a little quieter," she says, jerking me out of my reverie. I guess I need to try harder to impress her.

I must've looked a little crestfallen, because she speaks up again pretty quickly. "Must be that leg." As if she was fooling either of us. My cheeks still burn when I think of our little escapade in the forest during the Games. But this time will be different.

I think back to the times I'd watched her slip off with Gale, so silent and strong in her own graceful way. He was just as deadly and powerful, only more outspoken and rebellious. Someone more stubborn than Katniss is hard to imagine, but he is. Well, someone more reckless is actually the better way to say it. Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly imaginative, I would replace him with myself. But even in my fantasies, I scared away any animals to be seen. And her, too.

"Okay," she says in a whisper. I can tell that I'm holding her back, knowing that she could have signaled Gale with a glance alone, but she doesn't seem to mind too much. I decide to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. The prey must be close if she's being so quiet. "There's a rabbit under that bush. You shoot an arrow in its general area to startle it, then I'll go in for the actual kill."

I'm sure she doesn't really need me to do anything of the kind, but the fact that she's including me is progress in itself, so I do as I'm told. I notch the arrow with a sweaty hand and draw back the string with trembling fingers. A slight breeze stirs some hair into my eyes and I can only hope I'm aiming in the right direction. And then the arrow is flying through the air, riding on the wind until the thump of impact. And not with the ground. I dare to look up.

And there is the arrow, springing from the dead rabbit's eye socket.

Katniss stares at me, probably trying to decide if I was showing off or if I'd had a rare case of beginner's luck. I can't help but feel proud of my kill, even if it was a complete fluke.

The sun is getting in my eyes now, so I turn my back to its rays and try to stand tall with the bow still in hand, acknowledging the fact that I am Peeta the hunter. Dreaming for the fact that I am better than Gale could have been.

* * *

I know Peeta sees that I'm staring at him, but I don't really care at this point. I've just realized two very important things.

The first is that, framed by golden sunlight, made taller by strength and dignity, he is undoubtedly the boy on fire. I was never alone in the Hunger Games. Both of us were known for our fiery entrance and determination and personality. Both of us were Victors, and both of us are going to confront the Capitol sometime far too soon. But for better or for worse, I wasn't isolated for a second. I feel almost guilty that it has taken me so long to realize this, but the feeling can't stay, because another, much more powerful one is taking its place.

The boy standing in front of me, hunting by my side, is not Gale Hawthorne but Peeta Mellark- and I am in love with him.

**TADA! sorry it took so long- hope you liked it ^^ R&R please!**

**PS: A reviewer has informed me that my ending is like Twilight *sobs hysterically* I'm not annoyed or anything, but I've never read the series (just hate its plot and obsessive fangirls XD), so if someone could tell me what about it was Twilight-y so I could fix it, that'd be great. Thanks!  
**


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